Through Lover Boy's Eyes
by CIAgent Writer
Summary: A retelling of the Hunger Games through Peeta's eyes. Follow him chapter by chapter and see the world of Panem and the Hunger Games from his perspective. Is he playing a game? Or just following his heart? Is it even possible to do both? Please, R&R!
1. Chapter 1

I wake with the first rays of sunlight that glint in through the small, round window set near the peaked roof. Blinking a few times, awareness begins to settle in and I slowly pull away the blanket and sheet to sit up. It's awkward as I must lean away from the sloping wall that is actually the roof. But sit up, I do, and without knocking my head against it for only the second time this week. I rest my arms on my knees as I stare across the room at my brothers who are still fast asleep.

Nothing could wake them. Not even a mine explosion. Only one force on Earth seems capable of making them leap from their beds and that is our mother. Fortunately for me, I don't mind mornings, except when I hit my head on the wall, and am usually already downstairs helping Father by the time the apocalyptic force better known as Mrs. Mellark happens.

They're both my elder and we're each separated by just over a year. Ryen is the oldest at nineteen and despite the fact that he is out of school and should be working now at the bakery full-time, he takes no pleasure in baking and willingly sleeps until the screeches of our mother force him to wake. He may have no skill with flour and yeast, but he's amicable like me and does well manning the storefront allowing father more time to bake. I think he also enjoys the opportunity to flirt with every merchant daughter in the district.

Matzo is eighteen and anxiously awaiting the end of school. Although none of us know what he plans to do next. In District 12, we are fortunate to have even one option aside from coal mining and he has made it perfectly obvious he has no desire to work in the bakery. It is a point of frustration to Father who has done all he can to provide us with better lives, but Matzo takes after Mother and together they despise the bakery and the life that comes with it.

I get up and move about the room getting dressed to the symphony of their snoring and climb down from our attic bedroom. I pass by my parent's room with as quiet of steps as I can manage as I make my way to the stairs that lead directly into the bakery's kitchen. Only Father is up by this time and it's best to not disturb Mother if it can be avoided.

Heading down the stairs I can already smell the scents rising up to greet me from the warm oven. While we were all permitted to sleep in this morning, Father is already up and working on what few orders we do have for the day and what little stock he thinks we'll manage to sell. Today is special though. Today there will be cookies made specially for us.

You'd think being the sons of a baker we'd have cookies to the point where they became unappreciated and ordinary. But Father rarely makes cookies or cakes at all unless it's a special order for one of the Peacekeepers or someone from the local government. So cookies are still considered a treat. For in District 12, the sons of the baker may have no tesserae and full stomachs but only because they are full of stale bread. Usually only a birthday warrants such a special batch to be prepared. But the only national holiday warrants them too.

He looks up from his work as I walk into the kitchen and smiles. I find my apron hanging from a hook and quickly put it on. It's stained so many various colors from fruits, icings and char that it's hard to believe it used to be white. Only Ryen's is white and it is a stark contrast to mine and father's.

My father is a large man, his arms heavily muscled and burned from years of work before the oven. His hair is blonde like mine and he uses the back of his wrist to push back a few strands that have fallen into his eyes. As I watch, he kneads the dough without thought, his hands doing all the work from muscle memory alone. "You're up early," he comments. "Reaping's not until two and you know business'll be scarce today."

"Habit," I reply with a small shrug of my shoulders. In truth there is no one I'd rather spend every morning with than my father. I started helping him in the bakery since before I could even reach the counter on my own. He'd set me on the counter beside him so I could stir ingredients and by the time I was five I'd learned to knead.

"Breakfast?" he asks lifting one well-floured hand to point to the counter where a small assortment of loaves are resting on clothes ready to be wrapped and delivered. They are the culprits of the warm, yeasty smell I caught coming down the stairs. On the end is one more loaf that even from here I can tell that it's crust is dried and flaking off.

I go to pick up a knife and cut off a slice and my father makes a noise in the back of his throat. I look up and he shakes his head and nods to the slightly steaming loaf of cinnamon-raisin bread next to the stale one I was about to slice into. "Isn't that for Cray?" I ask surprised. Our head peacekeeper has a bit of a sweet tooth.

"I made an extra one, but if you'd rather have the stale loaf I was gonna have you feed to the sow, be my guest," he teases. My hand still rests on the crumbling crust and I smile as I pick it up and start for the back door. While it is not unusual for my father to make sure we eat a plentiful, and fresh, dinner tonight, a special loaf of bread for breakfast as well is a first. I'm certain it's because Ryen is finally too old for the Reaping. It must be a weight off my father's shoulders.

The air still has a slightly damp smell to it as the dew has not yet been burned off by the sun. Our sow is oblivious to my presence as she possibly sleeps more soundly and loudly than my brothers combined. I distractedly break up the stale loaf of bread and drop it into her trough as my eyes are finding the edge of the meadow and the perimeter fence just over some of the low neighboring rooftops.

That fence is supposed to be electrified, but to do that our district would have to either burn more coal for energy or suffer frequent rolling blackouts. Still it keeps the wolves and bears from walking through the town square. I smile imagining just this happening and old Cray too flustered to act.

As I gaze at the fence, a lone figure is moving along it. She is slim in build and wearing nothing but shades of brown making her hard to spot in the early light. But I would recognize her anywhere with her long dark hair pulled back in a braid. She ducks into a clump of bushes and only for the briefest of moments do I spot her as she dashes into the forest beyond the fence.

I sigh, my hands now empty, and brush the crumbs off onto my apron before going back in. I don't cut into the raisin bread my father has specially made figuring I'll at least wait to share with my brothers. Instead, I move about gathering bowls, utensils and the ingredients I need to make icing. I love when my father gets orders for cookies and cakes. Since I was six, he's been teaching me the basics and since I've been twelve he's let me do all the icing. Customers are even willing to wait until I'm out of school to finish the work.

By the time the first batch has cooled, I have a palette of blue, orange, pink, and green and begin to form flowers on the tops of the cookies. My father is watching me, so intensely that he has forgotten to keep kneading the bread. He seems to remember himself after a few minutes and delves back into his own work.

"Think we'll see any squirrels in time for lunch?" I ask breaking the quiet. We have probably only a few more minutes before the rest of the family is awake and joining us. Mother hates squirrel but that hasn't stopped father from trading for it now for years. He just does it when she's not looking. I look up from the pale purple katniss bloom I have created and gaze back at him. I try my best to look impassive but somehow he always sees straight through me.

He shakes his head in the negative but looks up and gives me this knowing smile and I can feel my cheeks burn hot. "Doubtful. We're too close to the square for her to risk a trade today. I saw her friend Gale even before you were awake. Gave him one of the fresh loaves for a squirrel he must have gotten yesterday evening."

I merely nod at first, forcing myself to look down at the cookies so he can't see the flash of disappointment cross my features. I try to remind myself that Gale coming by this morning meant that he was going to share that loaf with her when they met up to go hunting. "If she does come by..." I start hesitantly and father immediately looks up with interest. "Maybe we could give her a little extra? I'm sure her family would enjoy a special meal tonight just like we do. I think it's her sister's first year." I know I'm playing on my father's vested interest for Katniss' mother, Mrs. Everdeen, but I know he'd do it for me anyway too.

It is at that moment that the rest of the house starts to come to life. I spare one last glance over my shoulder to see Father's silent response-a warm smile and I smile in return. It pains us both to know that there are dozens of families like the Everdeens in the Seam. Dozens more who aren't even able to scrape by as well as Katniss has managed since her father died five years ago. It is not an uncommon sight to find someone who has either starved or frozen to death on those streets. As much as both of us would want to feed them all, we also have our own health to consider first. So we do what we can, when we can.

Ryen is down the stairs first, followed by the sounds of Mother still attempting to raise Matzo from his death-like sleep. He looks half frightened and is bustling about with great vigor and purpose around the kitchen but accomplishing not much of anything. I smirk as I watch Father hand him a slice of the still warm raisin bread and sends him out the door with the morning deliveries. Father then brings us each a slice and sighs as he settles onto a stool next to me.

He eats his slice slowly as he looks over the cookies I've already finished as if he were critiquing a painting. I've learned my perfectionism from him. "Exquisite," he comments picking up the cookie bearing the katniss bloom. He holds it up to his mouth as if he were going to eat it and upon seeing my semi shocked expression stays his hand at the last moment. He laughs as he replaces the cookie on the drying rack.

We have some unspoken agreement to not discuss my feelings towards Katniss Everdeen. Much like we do not speak of my own father's unrequited love of Mrs. Everdeen. Both are for safety sake because neither of us would want Mother to overhear any discussion of any Everdeen, especially if she were to be armed with a rolling pin. But that does not stop my father from teasing me nearly incessantly in his own way. I think he's trying to prod me into not giving up as easily as he once had.

The morning passes productively. My father having to give Motzo closely directed orders, Mother working on a meat pie that would be our supper after the reaping, and Ryen keeping an eye on the shop for the very rare customer. The closest we got to busy was at lunch when Capitol film crews came in to get something to eat. After a bowl of Father's squirrel stew, Mother orders Motzo and myself upstairs to bathe and dress 'respectably'.

We return downstairs by a quarter til two dressed in what Father jokingly calls funeral clothes. I can't help but feel the term is applicable, even on Reaping Day. We work seven days a week and therefore dress clothes have no use to us aside from attending a funeral. The grey pants and light blue shirt are practically new even though they were handed down twice.

Father leads us out the front of the shop, locking the door behind us. The square is already nearly packed as District 12's 8000 citizens attempt to fit in and some of the people have filtered back into side streets to watch from temporary screens that have been attached to the sides of the tavern, butcher shop, shoe shop, and apothecary. But Matzo and I need to make it to the very center of the square, right in front of the large stage that was assembled over the past few days in front of the Justice Building.

Our parents and Ryen make their way through the crowd and some of the childless adults give them a better spot. I glance around seeing that there are the usual roustabouts collecting the usual bids and frown. It's a horrid practice but somehow people believe it takes some of the reality out of it all. It's easier to pretend their not betting on or against their own neighbors' sons and daughters.

Eventually Matzo and I make our way to the front to check in. Our fingers are pricked for a blood sample and then we're ushered into the left side of the square and organized by age. I stand just a few yards back from my brother and take a deep breath before looking back to catch my father's eye. He smiles, but it's fraught with worry.

And why shouldn't it? Two of his sons are among those eligible to be reaped for the Hunger Games. There is a chance, however small, that one of us will be selected and sent to fight against 23 others to the death. The annual Hunger Games is the Capitol's way of reminding the districts of just how much we are at their mercy. As if starving to death in the streets wasn't memorable enough. So now, 74 years after a rebellion when there is nary a soul, especially not in this district, that was even alive then, I must stand here and pray I do not hear my name.

Once again, I am silently grateful I have never needed to take out tesserae. My name is only in that bowl five times. Looking over to the girls' side I spot Katniss standing nearly in the same row. She has apparently made it back from the forest with more than enough time to spare. She looks beautiful in a blue dress and her hair is intricately braided up onto her head. How many times is her name in there? How much grain and oil has she had to beg off the government at the cost of putting her name in so many more times than mine? I quickly do the math and realize it must be about twenty.

Delly Cartwright stands near to Katniss and waves to me mistaking that I'm looking for her in the crowd. I manage a weak smile and quickly look away. I don't want to catch her eye again when she realizes who she's standing directly behind. Delly is like the sister I never had. She smiles and has nothing but kindness for everyone. She also is one of the only people who knows my feelings for Katniss.

I cannot even imagine going to the Games. We are from the poorest district and are so poorly equipped to even have the survival instincts needed to not die of starvation or thirst during the games that only one victor has ever been crowned in District 12. It is painful being forced to watch classmates be sent to their death and then forced to witness their deaths on national television.

Not only can I not imagine going myself, I can't imagine my brother, my friends, Delly...or Katniss. Again I glance her way but her eye is drawn to Gale who stands near my brother. I fight down my conflicting emotions, mostly jealousy and allow a mask of calm to slip into place as Mayor Undersee takes his place on the stage. There are two other seats up there. One is for the escort of District 12's tributes, Effie Trinket. She is insufferably happy and excitable. The last chair is for Abernathy Haymitch, the town drunk and one of only two people to return to district 12 from the arena.

Effie has now appeared on the stage as well. As usual, she appears a little too excited to execute her duties and equally scary. Her face is painted so terribly pale she looks like death itself and her pale pink wig this year clashes with a light green suit. Only in the Capitol could anyone possibly believe this is high fashion. Then again, only in the Capitol is the Reaping an exciting event and not a funeral.

The Justice Building's clock strikes two ominously and the mayor mechanically stands up and begins to read. I've met him a few times, but I know his daughter, Madge, just slightly better. She does the shopping for the household and frequently stops into the bakery. I sense the same leveled fear in the mayor as I do my father for even his daughter's name is in one of those two glass bowls five times.

I'm barely listening as he talks about Panem's history. I'm staring past him at Effie who in turn is staring at Haymitch's empty seat. But the mayor drones on about the natural disasters that destroyed North America until the survivors began to war over the remains. The Capitol was the result, bringing supposed peace and prosperity to all. I try not to scoff because I highly doubt that could be true if the Dark Days were the result. The Dark Days is what the call the rebellion of the thirteen districts against the Capitol. It took the utter destruction of District 13 to bring the other twelve to their knees and the Treaty of Treason was written to insure no further civil wars.

And it's because of the Treaty of Treason that I'm standing here now. That one document has sent hundreds of children to their death by spelling out the rules of the Hunger Games. Each district must offer up two tributes-a boy and a girl-between the ages twelve and eighteen in order to remind everyone that the Dark Days are better off behind us. Those tributes will then be trained and put into an arena to fight until one person remains. The victor is then supposed to serve as a beacon of hope, of survival.

The mayor is finishing up and reads of the list of winners from District 12. But it's not really a list with only Haymitch's name on it. It is now that the drunk finally arrives, shouting obscenities and weaving dangerously as he attempts to climb the stairs onto the stage. He barely manages to land in his chair and looks confused by the staggered applause from the square. He turns and hugs Effie and there are quite a few snickers that trickle throughout the square now.

Perhaps if this is what hope looks like, it's no wonder all of our tributes have lost. Sure winning means a hefty "salary" from the Capitol, a house in the Victor's Village that rivals the mayor's in size, and food for the entire district for a year. But is it really worth it if you wind up like Haymitch? Drunk and alone?

Mayor Undersee is devastated. Haymitch has once again managed to make District 12 the laughing stock of Panem. He recovers and quickly introduces Effie having her come to the podium that stands between the two large glass bowls.

She nearly bounds up. Whether to escape Haymitch or in the excitement to perform her duties I'll never know. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" I have to hold my hand up over my mouth to keep from smirking when I see that her pink wig is slipping off to the side like buttercream icing left too long in the sun. But considering the timing and despite the humor of watching Effie and Haymitch interact, I stifle any and all amusement. She then tries to convince us of how glad she is to be here, an honor she claims.

Effie has now stepped off to the right slightly, her hand hovering over the glass bowl holding thousands of slips of paper. "Ladies first!" she shouts as her hand dives inside and ruffles about and pulls the first name. I glance to the side wondering which classmate I will no longer see in school again.

Moving back to the podium, Effie unfolds the slip and reads the carefully printed handwriting into the microphone.

"Primrose Everdeen!"


	2. Chapter 2

Once, Motzo and I had been wrestling and he'd put me into a headlock where I'd been unable to find the breath necessary to cry uncle. Next thing I knew, he'd flipped me head over heels to slam me onto my back. My head had been spinning and it felt as if my lungs had collapsed and would never refill again.

It feels like that now.

I'm certain that my eyes must be nearly popping out of my skull now and as soon as my brain registers that I need to keep breathing I force the calm to come over me again before anyone notices my overreaction to this sweet, little girl being chosen. It's tragic, of course, but unfortunately it's not the first time it's happened either.

But it's so much worse as I watch Prim Everdeen be plucked from the crowd of her classmates who instinctively withdraw. As she begins to pass, I can see the tears slipping down her cheeks and that her white blouse is coming untucked. Just last year it had been Katniss wearing that very same blue skirt. My eyes seek out Katniss who is just barely recovering from her shock as classmates hold her up on wobbly knees. I want so much to go to her but I can't as Peacekeepers are now patrolling the center area to keep the unrest to a minimum.

It isn't until Prim passes us, her little fists clenched tightly at her sides as she stiffly avoids contact with the peacekeepers that Katniss comes back to life. She is now pushing through her classmates to get to the aisle. "Prim!" The sea parts and she is nearly in a dead sprint chasing down the few yards that separate them. "Prim!" Her voice is full of so much pain that there is silence in the crowd now as everyone is forced to watch on helplessly.

She has caught her sister now, just barely at the stage and manages to put herself between the peacekeepers and Prim, her arm sweeping the younger girl back protectively. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

The quiet turns into a dull roar of murmurs. No one can remember the last time someone volunteered in District 12. It tends to only happen in the wealthier districts like one and two where the children are trained their entire lives for the 'honor'. This type of charity is just unheard of.

I look back at my father and give him a sad smile. He quickly shakes his head in the negative. He begs me with his eyes to not do what he knows I'm planning. But how can I not? The idea had slowly bloomed in me when Prim's name had been called. I would have gone to protect her little sister. To try my best to send her home again to Katniss. Why would I not do the same for the girl I've loved since my very first day in school?

I try to look apologetic; I mouth the words 'I'm sorry,' to him and he sighs. I watch as he mouths back 'I understand.' Mother and Ryen are oblivious to the entire interaction as they are still watching the stage where they are attempting to sort out the protocol for volunteering.

Katniss is now about to mount the stairs and Prim is beside herself. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!"

"Prim, let go," Katniss urges looking a little too gruff but she is probably doing her best to fight back the tears herself. It's so difficult when you know the entire nation is watching and going to be judging you. When the performance she can start now may very well mean life or death support from sponsors later. "Let go!" She shouts as Prim has clung to the hem of her dress making it impossible for her to mount the stairs.

Already Gale has leapt into action and is lifting Prim easily to his shoulder. He waves to Katniss dismissively, indicating that he has Prim now. "Up you go, Catnip." From where I stand I can barely hear him, but his voice has cracked for the first time since puberty.

As Katniss climbs the stairs to face Effie, Gale carries a thrashing and hysterical Prim back the aisle to I can only assume Mrs. Everdeen. "Well, bravo!" Effie declares. "That's the spirit of the games!" She looks just a little too happy that todays excitement wasn't limited to Haymitch mauling her with a hug. "What's your name?"

A quiet sweeps the town square again. Most of us know who she is already. Most of us eat fresh meat because of her. "Katniss Everdeen."

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" Effie turns to face the square and not a single pair of hands produce the sound she expected or desired. I watch as first a few and then all of us touch three middle fingers of their left hands to their lips before raising them in a salute.

It is a pure sign of dissent. You can feel the disgust in the air. No one is happy about this. And they all know Katniss is unlikely to come home in anything but a pine box. She is her family's last breadwinner. And without Katniss, her mother and Prim, the district's only apothecaries, the doctors of the less fortunate, will soon die of starvation.

I do the same, kissing my fingers and raising them above my head. And I also solemnly vow to not let this be Katniss' funeral, but my own.

Haymitch staggers to his feet, right as Katniss' face is starting to drop its mask of braveness. He stumbles into her, throwing an arm around her shoulders and you can tell he stinks by Katniss' retched expression. Look at her! Look at this one! I like her! Lots of..." he pauses and his eyes drift for a moment before his grip on her tightens. "Spunk!" he declares. "More than you!" he shouts weaving dangerously close to the front edge of the stage and points to the crowd. No, he's pointing above us. "More than you!" I look back and up to see he's pointing directly at the cameras.

Before he can say or do more, he trips and falls off the stage and knocks himself unconscious. Effie and Mayor Undersee actually look grateful. And while everyone else was staring at Haymitch wondering if he'd wake up, I am watching Katniss and catch the brief moment where she looks strained before adjusting her posture and staring aloofly into the distance.

There is further pause to the Reaping as Haymitch is taken away on a stretcher. But Effie Trinket will not be overshadowed. "What an exciting day!" she announces as if we should all be tittering with excitement as to what will come next. I know what will, and it will be a first in District 12. Two volunteers. The 74th Hunger Games will live on for a long time in District 12's memory. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!"

She already has her hand in the bowl when I glance back one more time at my father. He simply gives me a thumbs up. He has come to terms with my decision and I couldn't be more grateful. I wouldn't want to do this, wouldn't want to leave knowing I'd disappointed him.

"Peeta Mellark!"

I whip my head around at hearing Effie's voice and am shocked because it came so quickly. Why the sudden rush, I wonder and see that she's about to lose her wig completely if it weren't for the hand planted firmly on her head. I'm about to raise my hand, about to speak up to volunteer when I realize the peace keepers are already coming in my direction and my classmates have already parted like I carry a plague. I blink looking at them and realize what has happened. Against all odds, my name was drawn.

My steps are steady and calm and I'm still trying to figure out how the odds came to this. Prim had only one little slip of paper. Me only five. Yet here I was about to go to the Hunger Games with Katniss. I meet Katniss' gaze once on stage and am mostly deaf to hearing Effie ask for volunteers. There is a glimpse of sadness from Katniss when she realizes Matzo is not doing me the same favor she did for her sister. I'm not all that surprised so it's not hard to maintain an enotionless look.

As Mayor Undersee starts to read the Traty of Treason, every last horribly boring word, Katniss gazes back into the distance. From here, we can see the hills and the forest. I'm sure she's wishing she were there right now, wishing she'd not come back this afternoon from her hunt.

I catch one more glimpse from her and she looks flustered by my being here. And I'm certain I know why. It was the bread, I'm almost positive she must be thinking about that horrid, rainy day. I lower my gaze to study my shoes. These are thrice handed down from father.

It's been nearly five years since that day. I had been watching in school as Katniss slowly declined from bad to worse as the effects of starvation took over. Her once beautiful, rosy cheeks were hollow and her dark brown hair had been thinning and looking ragged. Even her bright grey eyes had dimmed. And her voice, the singing that had made me fall in love with her in the first place, no one had heard it since her father had died in the mines a few weeks earlier.

It was that miserable time of year in which winter has not yet given up and nothing can quite turn green yet. The streets were always full of coal-dusted mud that you had to slosh through to get anywhere. Our entire backyard had turned into a mud pit. We couldn't even go out to feed the pig without carrying back in more than enough mud to elicit mother's wrath.

That evening it was sleeting, sending icy chills down the spine of anyone who dared go out. I was helping father to pull loaves of bread from the oven using a wooden peel and just starting to get the hang of it. Mother was hovering near the back door we kept open to allow in the cooler air to help balance out the excessive heat of the ovens.

Suddenly she is out on the back step yelling at someone. Father glanced up and sighed and without a thought, I dropped my peel and was hiding just behind mother to see who had earned her ire. "Disgusting Seam brat! Get out of our yard and stop searching for scraps in our trash!" Her hands found her hips as she glared angrily at the girl who was sheepishly replacing the lid on our garbage bin.

I blinked as I recognized Katniss almost instantly despite her sodden appearance and wearing an oversized men's leather jacket. Mother whirled on her heel after seeing Katniss begin to retreat and I hesitated watching as she sunk down to lean against our apple tree just beside the pig pen.

I dashed back inside quickly and back to the oven. Father had aleady emptied it and I felt a brief panic as my plan seemed already foiled.

I lifted the peel and when mother wasn't looking placed two fresh loaves back on it and then mimed getting them from the oven. Just before getting them clear, I rotated the wooden handle and dumped both directly onto the coals. I made a small yelp to attract her attention as I deftly rescued the loaves again and set them on the counter.

Mother was on me so quickly I could barely blink. But I could see father's surprise at my 'mistake' just before the rolling pin caught me across the eye and cheek. Before she could catch me with it again, I'd scooped both loaves into my arms and run out into the rain.

"Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" Mother was back on the doorstep brandishing her rolling pin but quickly retreated out of the rain.

I careful scraped off the charr and dropped it into the pig's feeding trough before casting a quick glance to Katniss. She was still under the tree on the only patch of ground that had any grass over the mud. I tossed first one, then the second loaf to her feet and ran back inside.

Later when it had been just father and I and he was helping to put ice on my cheek, I told him why I'd done it. He'd pulled me close and hugged me and told me he'd never been prouder.

The next day at school, I'd wanted to say something. I'd spent the better part of the day staring at her. Noting that she already looked better and more hopeful for the bread. But I couldn't find the words. What eleven year old admits he did something like that for love?

Now I'm standing less than two feet from her and once again I don't know what to say. What part of the Hunger Games actually allows for me to be her protector? It's a game. She won't believe me even if I told her the truth.

The mayor finally finishes the reading and turns to us indicating we should shake hands. I grasp hers in mine and am surprised by the strength of her grip. I give it an extra little squeeze hoping she knows I'm on her side as I gaze directly into her gray eyes. They're so deep I feel like I'm lost in her thoughts too.

Finally the anthem starts to play and we simultaneously release our grips on one another and face forward.

It's just a game. They want entertained back in the Capitol. I can do this. I can make them want her. 


	3. Chapter 3

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After the anthem, we're escorted straight from the stage to inside the Justice Building by a group of peacekeepers. Almost immediately we're separated and I force myself to remember that this isn't permanent.

I've never been here before so I'm trying to keep track of where they're taking me through aging marble hallways. I finally end up in a room furnished in reds and purples with a few extravagantly rich couches and shelves lined with books. "You'll have one hour," a peacekeeper tells me before closing the door and leaving me alone.

An hour? For what? I wonder as I drift over to a window and gaze outside. And it hits me as I look down at the bakery from this new angle. An hour to say goodbye. I close my eyes and wonder what I might have done differently if I'd known this had been my last day at home. Nothing really. Father had ensured it was a perfect day.

The door opens and my family looks very sober all things considered. Ryen is the only one who looks at all upset about my position and pulls me to him for a one-armed hug. "I'm sorry," is all he can manage to get out as we pull apart. I can tell he truly is. He doesn't know I was going to volunteer anyway and he feels guilty that of the three of us I'm the only one who got chosen.

He looks over at Motzo who is hanging back and finally he sighs. "I should have volunteered?" he asks incredulously. Neither Ryen or I have a response. I would have been furious if he had but the fact that he is now, of all moments, making it clear it never even occurred to him makes the water muddy. I still embrace him briefly and bury the sigh.

Mother is still quiet and it's hard to tell if she feels anything at all. "Well at least this year District 12 might actually have a victor." I hope so too. But neither of us believes for a moment it'll be me. She's looking at me as if I am already dead and trying to formulate the words she'll utter over my grave. I force myself to bury the hatchet and give her a hug-a real one and it is so fierce I wonder if I'm doing it more for her or me. When she finally pulls back without returning the embrace, her eyes are darker. "For a Seam brat, she's a survivor."

It's that backhanded compliment that makes my blood boil and I finally decide to do something that any one of us Mellarks should have done ages ago. Perhaps it just took immenent death to give one of us the courage. "Leave," I say firmly. I know I have more time, but I don't want to spend what little is left listening to her be rude and disrespectful of the person I'm about to give my life for.

She looks as if I've slapped her. The shock that has registered is pure. It's almost as if she were a child being scolded and she didn't even know she'd crossed the line. Ryen gives me one last hug, a real one before he quickly and quietly escorts mother and Motzo away.

I sink down onto one of the couches and try to let the frustration slide away. There is nothing more that could have been done or said. And there's no opportunity to try again. The sooner I accept it, the better.

The door opens again and I look up to see Delly standing hesitantly in the doorway. As soon as our eyes meet she launches herself across the room to hug me. I close my eyes and accept the warmth of the gesture and sigh as I feel her tears fall and dampen my shoulder. "Don't cry," I say gently reaching up to hold her shoulder. "I wanted this."

Delly looks up at me with misty eyes and quickly pushes away strands of thin blonde hair. She chews her bottom lip and her chin quivers as she tries to hold it in. "You're not planning to come back, are you?" she says accusingly. "You're going to throw yourself into harm's way to help her when you should do your best to run and hide as long as you can."

I give her a weak smile and nod. "I'm sorry, Delly."

"I wish both of you could come back," she says after a few moments. "I just know she'd love you if you could."

"But we can't. And I can't live in a world without Katniss. Besides, her family needs her more," I argue. Delly just nods in agreement. There's a big difference between life in the Seam and in the Square. No starker difference could be noted than between Delly and Katniss. While Delly was fair complected, pale haired, blue eyes, and even a little pudgy, Katniss had dark hair, gray eyes, darker skin, and was lean from a life of meager meals and working hard for them.

"Good luck, Peeta," she whispers giving me one last hard hug before she flees the room as the tears start to free flow once again.

I sigh imagining the worst is over but surprised my father did not come to say goodbye in person. Granted we had more or less said goodbye in our own way at the Square. I'm standing at the window again when the door opens once more and my father is filling the doorframe, nearly dwarfing the peacekeeper beside him. I don't exactly run to him, but I can't say that I didn't go in looking for a hug.

We stand there for a long time and I'm glad that he came last and alone. With Mother watching I never would have had this last moment of pure understanding. Once we part he hands me a small white bag and I open it in confusion. Inside are our cookies.

Suddenly it is all clear in my mind. We have made cookies not to celebrate that none of us were chosen. We made cookies in case one of us did get chosen. I'm nearly choking up at the idea that for the last eight years my father has been dreading this moment. "I'm sorry," I say finally and his hand finds my shoulder before leading me back to the couches. We sit facing one another and I offer him the open bag. He takes one, the purple katniss bloom from before and he sighs.

"I hope you don't mind that I took some of them to her." I'm far from upset and I smile as I take a cookie for myself. We eat in silence for a while and before I can open my mouth to ask for what will literally be my last request, he speaks again. "I promised to keep her little sister safe and fed. Guess your mother'll be glad I'll be trading for more goat cheese instead of squirrels."

We chuckle lightly at our little inside joke and sober up again. He has read my mind. I had no other last request but for him to take care of the Everdeens in case I failed to send Katniss home. "Think maybe I'll get lucky and hear the birds stop to listen to her sing one last time?" I ask.

"You never know," he replies taking another cookie. "I do know your brothers will be upset they're not getting any cookies."

"I don't know about Motzo, but I don't think Ryen's going to have much appetite anyway," I answer. Finally I look up and meet his gaze realizing our time must be short. "I want you to know, I wouldn't have changed a thing."

I think he understands. He knows I'm not talking about just this afternoon. I'm talking about this morning. About all the time we've had together in the bakery. About falling in love with Katniss Everdeen at the age of five. About taking the beating from Mother to save her life five years ago. About loving him. He is the man I always wanted to be when I grew up. I only hope I've done it well enough.

"I'm so proud of you," he says quietly. Pride is forcing him to hold back the tears but I can't help but feel the deja vu and I'm eleven years old again as he pulls me to him and hugs me again. "Peeta, any father would be proud to call you his son."

He's saying he's proud of me, but what he means and I hear is that he loves me. "I love you, too," I manage to say between the sobs. I know I shouldn't cry. I will be in front of the cameras all too soon at the train station.

We are only separated by the peacekeepers and I'm given a few minutes alone. I do my best to wipe my face clean but I know it must surely still show that I have been crying. Finally they come to get me and Katniss and I are reunited in the back of car for the short ride to the train station.

She looks so calm and she is studying me curiously. I internally curse the tell-tale signs of my tearful goodbye with my father. At the same time I want to defend myself to her and also pretend that nothing is wrong. If she has managed this level of resigned peace, shouldn't I too? And it hits me, she is planning to come home. She is a survivor.

As we unload at the train station, I hold my head high. So what if they see the red in my eyes. I'm at least not going to go looking like a complete sniveling fool.

We're made to stand in the train doorway while they take our photographs and once more I see that Katniss is studying the forest beyond our district fences. I want to tell her she'll be back there soon enough but as usual, words seem to fail me in her presence.

As soon as we're safely aboard, the train takes off at full speed. No going back now, not that I ever intended to try and escape this fate. Effie Trinket makes quick work of giving us a tour of the train dropping off first Katniss then me at what will be our rooms for the evening. The train travels so quickly that we will have crossed all of Panem and be to the Capitol by tomorrow. She also reminds us that dinner will be in an hour and to not be late.

I am finally alone to my thoughts. I force the goodbyes behind me. All that matters now is staying alive long enough to get Katniss home. I change out of the clothes that once belonged to each of my brothers and climb into a shower. I've heard of them, just never used one until now. My parents had an old clawfoot tub with lukewarm, at best, water.

I scrub away my old life, making sure to get the last of the flour and icing that has imbedded itself into my nails. I am no longer Peeta, the baker's son. I am now something else but I haven't quite figured it out yet. All I know is I don't want to be the Capitol's pawn.

I get dressed again finding a vast assortment of choices in the dressers. I choose a pair of dark brown pants and a new light blue shirt. It's as if they knew ahead of time what size they would need for the tributes for the clothes fit perfectly. Or do they use that hour to pack the dressers with the correct size? If so, where do all the other clothes too big and too small for me go?

I follow the corridor back to where Effie showed us the dining room was and pass Haymitch. He is carrying a bottle of wine in one hand and sloshing the contents of a glass with the other. "Dinner's being served," I say as I avoid some of the spilt wine.

He glances up at me and for a brief moment the haze lifts from his eyes. "Got all the dinner I need right here," he replies smirking as he waves the bottle before my eyes. He roughly bounces into me as we round a turn and then he is gone into a nearby compartment. First thing in the morning I'm going to make this man help us. During the Games he will be our only link and hope for sponsors. Even if I have to empty every bottle of liquor on this train myself.

I'm the first one in the dining room and I sit patiently waiting for Katniss and Effie to arrive. It shouldn't be long as Effie seemed quite strict on when dinner would be starting. Even if Haymitch is a bust, Effie will at least be of some use to Katniss and I. She has a lot to gain from our success too, like hopefully getting assigned another district and never setting one of her pointy little shoes in our coal-coated home again.

Effie arrives promptly at six with Katniss in tow. Katniss is no longer wearing the blue dress but rather a dark green shirt with a golden pin attached. I hadn't noticed it before and I can only assume she got it as a gift just before loading onto the train. It is a mockingjay holding a tiny arrow and set into a gold ring. I smile thinking of the day I'd first seen Katniss and she'd sang in school. All od the mockingjays had fallen silent to listen to her. And then they had song as a chorus back to her.

Mockingjays were special like that. They were the result of cross breeding between mockingbirds and a Capitol muttation known as a Jabberjay. Jabberjays had been capable of replicating human speech and had been used to spy on rebels during the Dark Days of the rebellion. But the rebels had caught on and fed the birds lies and thus made the Capitol the fool, at least for a while. With the failure of Jabberjays, they'd been left to die off in the wild, but nature has a way of surviving.

Now the entire country of Panem was covered in Mockingjays who could mimic other songbirds but also the complexities of human tunes as well.

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie asks breaking me out of my thoughts. She asks a little too eagerly and both Katniss and I raise our eyebrows.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap." It's not exactly true but I don't feel like telling Katniss our mentor is already, well still, drunk less than two hours into the job.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day," Effie says with a dismissive wave. There is blatant relief etched into her features though.

Now that the three of us are seated, dinner comes in courses. I know I need to put on what little weight I can before entering the arena, so I finish every one. First carrot soup, then salad followed by lamb chops and mashed potatoes. For dessert, we have cheese and fruit and an impeccably soft chocolate cake as good as Father can make.

Effie keeps reminding us to take it easy but even in my house you don't waste food put on your plate. I can imagine that in the Everdeen household that not a crumb is discarded. "At least you two have decent manners," Effie comments off-handedly. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."

Katniss just glares at Effie for this comment that was made as the fruit and cheese platter was served. She makes it a point to forget the existence of her silverware from this point forward and finishes the meal by wiping chocolate icing directly onto the tablecloth. It takes a lot to keep from laughing at Effie's reaction that makes it look like she's sucked on sour lemons.

However, both Katniss and myself look like we've probably pushed past our limits on the rich and heavy food. But losing my supper now would be counterproductive so I will my stomach to settle down.

Effie then leads us to another compartment with lush, deep couches and we settle in to watch the recap of the Reapings. This will be our first look at the competition and I watch studiously. As usual the tributes from Districts 1 and 2 are monstrous and deadly. But the boy from District 2 seems just a little too eager to fight. Most of the tributes take their place on the stage as if they were accepting a death sentence while others need forceful assistance from peacekeepers. I do not see anyone else of not until District 11 when a truly giant boy takes the stage. Sadly his twelve-year-old counterpart looks as big as a songbird by his side. I glance at Katniss to see she is disturbed by this poor girl's selection and realize that it must make her think of her own sister Prim.

I awkwardly hold my hand out to her but drop it as we are now witnessing our own Reaping from the Capitol's perspective. Katniss' desperation is so much more potent now, the silent salute so much more haunting. But Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman easily play it off as a quaint custom. Followed up by Haymitch's spill it's not hard to believe District 12 is so backwards. Very little time at all is given to me getting my name drawn and taking the stage. I'm actually surprised by the calm I'm showing since I know that I was scared to death for Katniss' well-being.

"Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior," Effie comments as she self-consciously fusses with her wig even now.

I can't help but find the humor in her complete self-involvement. "He was drunk," I quip laughing. "He's drunk every year."

"Every day," Katniss adds with her own small smile as we gang up on Effie. I realize this is the most interaction I've had with Katniss in probably five years.

"Yes, how odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death."

I don't even manage to protest that I planned to force Haymitch into sobriety when he staggers into the compartment. "I miss supper?" he slurs before doubling over to vomit and then collapse into the pile.

"So laugh away!" Effie says bitterly as she carefully steps around the mess and leaves.


	4. Chapter 4

As we watch, Haymitch attempts to stand back up but he's struggling as he slips in his own vomit. Katniss and I exchange a look and there is mutual understanding that we need to straighten Haymitch out if we're to stand a chance at all.

Together, we each take an arm and haul Haymitch to his feet and keep him there. "I tripped?" he asks sounding genuinely surprised. "Smells bad."

I can't help but agree with his assessment as he wipes his nose and smears the vomit across his face bringing the stench even closer to my own nose. "Let's get you back to your room. Clean you up a bit," I suggest as Katniss and I half carry, half drag him down the corridor and into his compartment.

I gaze forlornly at the rich comforter on his bed and nod to the bathroom. Katniss follows my lead and we dump him fully clothed into the tub and turn on the water. Immediately Katniss looks uncomfortable about what comes next. I try to not laugh as I straighten up. "It's okay. I'll take it from here," I offer.

A look of relief washes over her features as she looks up and meets my gaze. "All right. I can send one of the Capitol people to help you."

I consider the offer but shake my head in the negative. "No. I don't want them." I doubt this will earn me any points with Haymitch but I haven't forgotten that moment of clarity I'd seen before dinner. If it happens again, I don't want some Capitol person in the room when I threaten his alcohol supply.

She purses her lips for a moment, casts one last glance at Haymitch and that apparently settles whatever few qualms she had. She leaves quietly, I don't even hear the door close behind her.

I set about the job of undressing Haymitch methodically. You grow up in a household of boys and nakedness doesn't seem so strange anymore. Kind of sucks the self-consciousness out of it. I finally have him propped up in the tub, the water rinsing down over him and I sit back on my haunches as I close my eyes.

We need Haymitch sober-Katniss needs Haymitch sober. I need to make sure that happens starting first thing in the morning. Luckily this fall down drunk display is just the trigger I need to explain what will probably be an excessive display at breakfast.

The train briefly slows to a stop and I realize we must be refueling. It isn't very long at all though before we start moving again.

I stand up and push Haymitch's head forward, tipping his chin down onto his chest so the water flows through his hair and rinses out the straggling bits of what is left. This seems to startle him and he clumsily snaps his head back as he coughs and sputters. I jump back as he whirls around to face me, his dark eyes flashing and angry. I think if he'd been armed, he'd have taken a swipe.

"Think you can crawl out of your bottle and into bed on your own?"

He doesn't answer me but steps out of the tub without turning off the shower and leaves me alone in his bathroom. He's mumbling something under his breath out in the bedroom but I'm too busy cleaning up quickly to bother trying to pick up the exact words. It's running something along the lines of a nonsensical string of profanity.

I come out of the bathroom and whip a clean white towel at his head. "Breakfast. Be there or I'll give you another shower, except this time I'll start with you in bed."

He makes a few more incoherent grumbles as he wraps the towel around his waist and waves dismissively at me. I leave slamming the door behind me and make my way back to my own compartment.

I strip down and take another shower, eager to wash away the smell of Haymitch's stomach contents. Coming back into the bedroom, I realize this will be the first time I have not gone to bed to the sound of my brothers' snoring. It is lonely here in the dark. I find a pair of pajama bottoms and crawl into the soft bed and close my eyes.

But I cannot sleep. I keep seeing eleven-year-old Katniss leading her little sister by the hand across the schoolyard. They are hastily making their way to the Meadow as spring has finally come seemingly overnight. I hurry home myself and without any urging go out to feed the pig. I stand there by the pen and watch as the girls pick things growing in the meadow until my mother hollers for me to get inside and back to working.

But the rocking of the train must have finally lulled me to sleep because my memory turns into a full-fledged dream.

It is a blur of memories, almost all of them somehow pertaining to Katniss. But there are happy days spent working side by side with my father and even Ryen. The longer it goes on, the stranger my dream becomes as my memories are soon painted in icing onto the tops of cookies only to get eaten by President Snow.

I bolt upright in the bed and realize it is already morning. Later than I'd normally sleep, I note, as the sun is fully up and I'm panting hard as I place my hand over my heart. I throw the blankets aside and sit on the edge of the bed slightly hunched over from habit.

I cannot help but remember where I am and why and it does little to slow my racing pulse. The image of President Snow eating my life still lingers. I can see his white hair parted perfectly and that strangely wide mouth spilling crumbs onto his white beard. His eyes were the worst as it seemed they stared directly into me with the coldness of a poisonous snake about to strike.

I finally force myself to shake my head and get up. I dress again in another pair of brown slacks and find a darker blue shirt that buttons down the front. The long sleeves cover my burns from the bakery ovens. I leave my compartment and am greeted by the smell of breakfast coming from the dining compartment.

I am the first one there it seems and I sit down and am provided a plate full of ham, eggs, and fried potatoes by one of the attendants. I eat slowly, determined to not feel as ill as I did last night. The last thing I want to do is lose it while with the stylist. Pissing them off could mean a sudden change...like going naked. It wouldn't be the first time either.

It isn't very long before Haymitch comes in appearing surprisingly only mildly hungover. That doesn't mean his face isn't all red and puffy, it's just that he is apparently with the program this morning without too much wavering. He too is served a plate of food but he doesn't touch it. He instead seems more intent on a glass of cranberry juice. He takes a large gulp before replacing the volume with a clear liquor he has in a flask. He eyes me suspiciously as if daring me to do or say something but I don't as I sip from one of the mugs before me.

"What is this?" I ask suddenly. It is sweet and tastes like the cocoa Father rarely gets to use.

"Hot chocolate," Haymitch drawls wearily. "Thought you were the baker's boy."

"I am," I reply with a shrug. "Doesn't mean I had it made." I realize how bad that sounds and I stare down into my mug. "I just mean that we didn't have all the same luxuries the Capitol seems to have."

"No one does, Kid." We sit in silence as I pick at a basket of fresh, warm rolls and try to not think about Father working alone in the bakery kitchen this morning. How is he holding up? And Ryen? Have our neighbors and friends come by with condolances? Is Mother pretending like she doesn't care? Or does she truly not care? I worry for Father.

Effie walks in at her usual brisk pace, her heels clicking on the floor rather loudly. Haymitch looks agitated and whirls in his seat to stare at her as she fills a mug with coffee.

"Sleep well last night, Sweetheart?" Haymitch asks and Effie gives him a warning look. He ignores it though as he continues. "How much longer do you think they'll make you put up with me, hm?"

"I keep praying this'll be the last year," she mutters. "So far my prayers seem to go unheard."

"Keep telling you that you'd have more fun if you got to know me better," he teases in a lewd tone as he turns his back to her and spikes his cranberry juice a little further.

I watch as Effie storms out and nearly plows Katniss down in her effort to escape. I realize my jaw has dropped and quickly shove a piece of bread into it. She is still wearing the same clothes she wore to dinner last night and somehow her hair is still up in the beautiful braids from the day before. She looks beautiful and fresh and I duck my head to keep from staring as I'm sure a blush is creeping up my cheeks.

"Sit down! Sit down!" Haymitch says waving Katniss over to the table. Apparently to put him in good spirits you just need to sacrifice Effie Trinket up to him.

She does sit and is served her own heaping pile of food. She seems to be in awe of the amounts provided and also calculating it somehow. I can see her eyeing up the drink options and she seems mystified by the mug of dark brown liquid. "They call it hot chocolate," I tell her. She stares at it for a moment before lifting it up to her lips. She takes a small whiff and then inhales the entire mugfull.

I continue to nibble on rolls, dipping them into a fresh mug of hot chocolate while Katniss eats and Haymitch drinks. When she finally finishes she sits back and gazes at us both and I can't help but wonder what she thinks. Hopefully she's not already writing me off as an ally.

"So you're supposed to give us advice," she says cutting the room's tension like a knife.

"Here's some advice. Stay alive," he says laughing as if this is wonderfully helpful.

Katniss and I exchange glances over Haymitch's laughter and I can feel my jaw tightening. "That's very funny," I say through gritted teeth and bat the glass juice from his hand. It goes flying and shatters on the floor. "Only not to us." I'm practically seething with fury. I need his help if I'm to help Katniss. Suppose I get hurt or die? She will be at the mercy of sponsors who will not want to cope with this drunkard.

Haymitch seems stunned for a moment. The hand once holding the glass flexes and the next thing I know is it's curled into a fist and connecting with my jaw. The force and surprise knocks me from my chair but I've suffered worse when my brothers and I have fought.

He is already reaching for his flask but Katniss drives her knife in between his hand and the bottle, narrowly missing his fingers. This actually does give Haymitch pause and I'm glad he does not strike out at her as well. Instead he studies us, his eyes squinting slightly. "Well, what's this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

I finally right my chair and reach out to get some ice from a tureen of fruit on the table. Haymitch grabs my wrist and stops me. "No. Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

"That's against the rules," I mutter letting the ice drop as I rub the sore spot. He managed to just catch the bone.

"Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better." His attention now turns to Katniss and he runs the finger he nearly lost down the side of his face thoughtfully. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

She quickly stands retrieving the knife. She takes a moment to adjust her grip and throws the knife across the room into the opposite wall. She somehow manages to hit a seam between the wooden panels.

Haymitch looks impressed. More importantly, sober at the moment. "Stand over here. Both of you," he says waving for us to move to the center of the room. We do it, standing nearly shoulder to shoulder as he walks around us in circles and gives us an occaisional poke and squeeze. He finishes by taking Katniss by the jaw, turning her face to the light. "Well you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough."

Attractive enough? I spare a glance at Katniss and find it hard to believe she can get nore beautiful or that there exists anyone prettier.

"All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking," he says pointedly looking at me, "and I'll stay sober enough to help you. But you have to do exactly as I say."

I can't say I'm thrilled, but considering we went from nothing to something this is the definition of infinitely better. "Fine."

"So help us," Katniss pushes. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone-"

"One thing at a time," Haynitch interrupts waving his hands to get Katniss to stop the fountain of questions we can see she's got. "In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what the do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist," he instructs us and I can tell by the glint in his eyes that he's serious.

"But-" Katniss goes to start but Haymitch interrupts yet again.

"No buts. Don't resist." He takes his flask from the breakfast table and leaves us alone. Just as he's gone the car goes mostly dark. What little light we have is from lamps around the room but we must be passing through the mountain now as it is pitch black through the windows.

I can hear Katniss as her breathing becomes hitched and I look down at her and realize she must be claustraphobic. Perfectly understanding seeing as her father died in the mines. That and she's almost always home sick on the days we have to tour the mines for school.

Just as suddenly as it went dark, natural light floods back into the car and we both run to look out the window as the train starts to slow. This is the first and probably will be the only time either of us sees the Capitol in person. Unless I succeed, then Katniss will visit often as she will become District 12's second mentor. Each district should have two. So we're at a disadvantage having only one.

The buildings of the capitol glitter in the sun, made of gold and white stone. It is nothing short of beautiful. But Katniss and her look of pure awe outshines the entire city.

Already we're nearing the station and all along the tracks are Capitol citizens, each one dressed more distractingly than the last. They wear colors I couldn't even come close to repicating with icing. I see Katniss step back looking a little pale, but I remain at the window. They are waving and so I wave back. I know I stand no chance at appearing gruff or murderous to win sponsors. So, I might as well be me.

Once into the station, I look back to see that Katniss is just staring at me as if I've grown a second head and I swallow. I wish she wouldn't look at me as if she were trying to despise me. "Who knows? One of them may be rich," I suggest.

She is giving me that calculating look again. I know now that she is weighing out every action I've ever made. The best I can hope for is she realizes I have no desire to kill her. 


	5. Chapter 5

R-i-i-i-p! I grit my teeth and grab the edges of the table I'm lying on. I pretend my brothers are able to see this torture and thus I'm able to keep from crying out.

I didn't even think I'd really managed to grow any hair on my chest until they'd managed to remove it a strip at a time. It was so pale, lighter than even the hair on my head that you couldn't really see it. Now I realize I had a decent amount and my chest is sore from it being yanked out by the roots.

The last strip is yanked free and I grimace as Tango makes a clucking noise in the back of his throat. His long, straight hair is dyed pale blue to match his eyes. "Chin up," he says and I sigh taking that to mean he's finally finished. Apparently I'm wrong because when I don't move he tilts my head back and starts to apply new strips of fabric to my neck and chin.

It's unfortunate it feels so good when the warm goo is applied and so painful to have it removed. It gave me a false sense of security when they first started a few hours ago.

But, with a few more yanks, the two day fuzz I've accumulated goes the way of my chest hair. I'm actually now grateful that I wasn't as quick to follow my brothers in the ability to grow facial hair. One final strip gets applied between my brows and this hurts so bad my eyes water.

I'm afraid that if this is what they're doing to my chest and face, what will they decide to do about removing hair from more sensitive places? But it seems I'm to be spared the horror of finding out as they deem a little armpit hair to be manly enough and that it's unlikely for me to go around the arena showing off my breadstick.

It felt slightly wrong sharing this family joke with these people, but I was desperate to get them to stop scrubbing me so hard that my skin burned. Tinsel finds it so amusing that she keeps trying to egg me into making other bakery related euphemisms. She is the only woman on my prep team and her purple hair is cropped short about her ears and she wears a lot of purple makeup too.

So while she allows me to wear a robe again as she gives me a manicure to repair the damage to my cuticles and nail beds, I regale her a little by alluding to my brother Motzo having a cannoli. The tiny scissors and tweasers hurt but while she is wiping tears of laughter away, she applies a cream which soothes the stabbing pains. I wish they'd do the same for my chin and chest soon.

My wish is granted as Crimson brings a bottle of some delicious smelling oil and all three begin to rub it into every pore of my body. Crimson is the most decorated of the trio, his face and upper body sporting tattoos of flame designs and his hair dyed to match his name. But I bite back comments I might have about their appearances or their obsession with removing my hair as the oil feels fantastic.

"You handled that pretty well," Crimson comments and I shrug just before he spots an errant strand of eyebrow and plucks it.

"No worse I guess than getting burns from the oven," I reply but I can see that whatever they used has caused the scars to fade significantly.

Tinsel is smiling up at me winningly. She's so petite that she doesn't even come to my shoulder. "I must say you're actually quite handsome when it's all said and done."

I thank her and by the time they're done and offer me my robe, I'm no longer feeling self-conscious. They are no worse than my brothers with their poking and prodding and I'm left to wait alone for my stylist to finally come.

I hug the robe about myself hoping against all hopes that my stylist won't be insane and attempt to dress my like a coal miner who forgot most of his clothes. But seeing the person who walks through the door, I'm definitely surprised. While she'd never blend in walking down the streets of District 12, she is tame compared to the prep team and everyone else in the Capitol. Her skin is the color of rosewood and her hair is dyed a golden color. It is very curly and stands out around her head like a halo. Her makeup is minimalist, just a little bit of a gold shimmer on her lips and she's wearing a plain black button-down shirt and long fitted skirt. "My name is Portia," she says holding out her hand. "It's so nice to meet you, Peeta."

I take her hand in my own and it looks so small by comparison. Her smile is warm and kind and I finally find my voice. "Hello. You're my stylist?" I ask just to be sure. She looks so normal compared to the ones I've seen on television who are usually downright grotesque with alterations.

She laughs lightly and nods. "I am. I'm so sorry to do this. You're probably tired of the poking and prodding, but it helps if I can know my canvas if you will," she says indicating to my robe. I blush slightly but slowly take it off and watch as she circles me twice slowly taking me in. She doesn't poke or prod at all though. "Good, good," she murmurs to herself and turns back to the door. "Get your robe and join me for some lunch."

I quickly retrieve it from the floor at my feet and cinch it closed before leaving the white walled room. I find myself standing in a sitting room with a large pituresque view of the city and Portia is already settled on a purple couch and she indicates I should take the one opposite her.

Her lips briefly pucker with thought as she fusses with a small panel inserted on the table between us and there is a small hum as the table opens to reveal our meal. She waves for me to help myself first and I slowly fill a plate with chicken, potatoes and vegetables. "You know I was a little afraid they'd be a little over eager to pluck you of hair," she admits.

"Me too," I reply and she laughs as she fills a plate for herself. "Is this your first year?"

"It is," she says smiling before licking her fingers of juice from the chicken. "It is for Cinna too who will be your friend's stylist."

I'm startled by her choice of words, calling Katniss my friend. Doesn't she know we should be about ready to kill one another? "So that's how you ended up with us." District 12 is where everyone first starts out until they can prove to be more entertaining or outlandish. It's why we're still stuck with Effie.

"Actually, we requested your district. You see Cinna had this absolutely wonderful idea of how to truly capture the flavor of your district and I was more than excited to help him execute it." I digest her words as I chew and wonder what exactly this idea would be. "You're a baker, I hear," she says watching me closely for a reaction and I nod in the affirmative. "So your familiar with fire then. Good."

What's left of my eyebrows shoot up into my hairline at this.

Only a few hours later and I'm being led into what looks to be a large stable. The other tributes are being loaded into the backs of chariots already as Portia and my prep team lead me to the back of the line where four solid black horses wait, strapped to a chariot bearing District 12's seal.

Katniss is already standing in the chariot dressed in a matching black leotard to mine and having her 'flaming' cloak and headress situated. It didn't take a long time for Portia to fix my hair and to use hardly any makeup at all. Basically, I look like me but blemish free. Katniss is the same. Her hair is tied back in her usual braid and the only makeup I see is a little bit of sparkle about her eyes. Once again I think that there was really no way to improve upon her looks and I smile briefly.

Cinna seems to be overly calm as the two prep teams are beside themselves trying to congratulate him and Portia. It makes me wonder just how insane he must be as he plans to send us rolling down the Capitol streets on fire.

I step up into the chariot and realize we haven't been this physically close since we'd jammed ourselves to the train window for a glimpse of the Capitol. And before that, when? Never, I think. Now I will spend the next hour standing right next to her and unfortunately I'll be a little preoccupied getting burned to death. "What do you think?" she whispers so our stylists won't overhear. "About the fire?"

"I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine," I reply gritting my teeth that of all the stupid ways we could die, this is likely to be the worst and only one I can't save her from. Even if we survive, they'll still put us into the arena. We'd just be helpless fodder at the bloodbath.

"Deal." I smile just a little at this. At least she's not ignoring me or reacting too coldly. I really need her to see me as her ally. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle."

"Where is Haymitch anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?" I ask looking around but realize there are no other mentors in the stable.

"I guess with all that alcohol in him, it's ptobably not advisable to have him around an open flame," she jokes and we start to laugh. The tension has finally made us crack. We're about to die and yet we were laughing as if we'd been friends for years. I only wish I'd had the nerve before now to make that happen. I guess I never realized just how short life could be.

The doors open and music begins to pump from unseen speakers indicating that it's time for the tributes to parade into the City Circle before entering the training tower for the first time. That tower will serve as our prison for the next week.

Before long, it begins to grow dark as the sun sets and Cinna approaches us holding a torch. It's literally do or die time as he goes to light Katniss's cape first. "Here we go." Her cape quickly goes up in flames but she gives no cry of pain and then I feel a tickling a realize I am alight too. Cinna has clambored up around the front to reach our headresses and smiles to see the finished product. "It works," he sighs with relief and I can't tell if it's relief we're not burning up or just relief we didn't utterly fail to ignite. He takes Katniss by the chin and tilts her chin up. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!" he instructs us both as he hops back down.

He moves back to stand with Portia and tries to give us one last instruction but the music drowns him out. "What's he saying?" Katniss asks as Cinna shouts again and gestures.

"I think he said for us to hold hands," I reply squinting to try and read Cinna's lips. I grab her hand in mine and look back to Cinna who nods and gives us a thumbs up. The horses lurch forward on their trained que and we're entering the city as I finally turn and gaze at Katniss. She looks amazing as the light of the flames plays across her features. I take it back. She can look more amazing, but just barely.

We both wave our free hands to the crowd and Katniss begins to blow kisses as they shout our names. It's so strange to think that District 12 is attracting so much attention that they're pulling their eyes from the preceding districts to look at us. We are on all of the screens leading through the parade route.

Katniss looks truly hopeful as we near City Circle and I feel as if I could fly holding her hand. Really she is clutching mine as if her life depended on it and to be honest, I like it-a lot. We're just entering the circle when she looks down and quickly releases her grip. She looks up at me apologetically and I give my head a slight shake. "No, don't let go of me. Please. I might fall out of this thing," I say and I'm disappointed in myself for tacking on the lie to the end. Why do I feel even now that I must hide my feelings?

"Okay," she says quietly and I find her fingers again and squeeze them. I don't let go even when we come to a stop in front of President Snow's mansion. He gives the customary welcome speech that glosses over that we're only here to die and then the National Anthem plays again. Her eyes keep flitting up to the screens and I follow her gaze to see that we are getting most of the camera time. Good. We're going to be unforgettable. If this doesn't get us sponsors, not much else will.

We're barely behind the closed doors of the Training Center stables when the prep teams are on us. They sing their praise for Katniss who was stunning and charming. But it's hard to miss the jealousy coming off the tributes from Districts 1 and 2. They are rarely upstaged in anything.

Not until Cinna and Portia are extinguishing our flames and removing the capes and headresses does Katniss pry her fingers away from mine. She flexes them to remove the stiffness from our firm grip and I massage my hand. "Thanks for keeping hold of me," I say. "I was getting a little shaky there." Internally I curse for the second lie in the last hour.

"It didn't show," she assures me. "I'm sure no one noticed."

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you," I reply. "You should wear flames more often. They suit you." I can't help but smile as finally I let slip some honest to goodness truth.

She just looks at me for a moment as if trying to decide if I meant it and then smiles herself. She goes up on her tip toes and kisses on the corner of my mouth where Haymitch tagged me just this morning. I can now die happy. 


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry everyone...I've been pretty sick as of late. So I haven't had the wherewithal to upload what I even already had written. So, hope you can all forgive me. I'm still sick, so it might be a while until I have the muster to write again that won't sound like I'm in a drugged haze. Hopefully after Wednesday though I'll know what's going on with me and be able to start effectively treating it. Enjoy!

* * *

Effie Trinket's duties have apparently not ended with simply picking us up and delivering us by train. She finds us in the stable and ushers us into the elevator to ride up to the apartment we will be staying in during training and the interviews.

I've never been in an elevator before until yesterday at the Justice Building but this one might as well be classified as something entirely different. It's clear glass front allows us to look down on the ground floor until the people look so small they could be insects. It takes mere moments to ride all the way up to the very top and Effie talks the entire time as she tells us of her efforts to find us sponsors based on our over-the-top entrance.

"I've been very mysterious, though," she explains. Her face wrinkles slightly with thought and some frustration. "Because of course Haymitch hasn't bothered to tell me your strategies. But I've done my best with what I had to work with. How Katniss sacrificed herself for her sister. How you've both successfully struggled to overcome the barbarism of your district."

I can't help but stare up at Effie in utter shock. Is that how the Capitol sees all of us in District 12? Barbarians? We may not have the luxuries they do, a majority of our district may be constantly on the brink of starvation, but it's not like we have resorted to cannibalism.

"Everyone has their reservations, naturally. You being from the coal district. But I said, and this was very clever of me, I said, 'Well, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls!'" My jaw drops before I can catch myself but Effie is so pleased with herself she doesn't notice. Katniss and I both manage to congratulate her on being so clever although we both know just how wrong she was.

I can only hope that our sponsors are either as dumb as she is or that they're too enamored with our fiery clothes to care that our escort is dumber than a biscuit.

"Unfortunately, I can't seal the sponsor deals for you. Only Haymitch can do that," she tells us grimly as the elevator doors open and we're able to step into the apartment for the first time. It's far more lavish than the train and I'm so busy staring at the strange, hovering chandelier wondering how it works that I barely hear Effie's last statement. "But don't worry, I'll get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary." I turn and grin at her and Katniss when I hear this. Even if Effie's a dolt, she's the kind of person who gets stuff done.

Effie drops us off at our bedrooms so that we can settle in and I'm surprised by their vastness. It's as large as the attic bedroom I share with both of my brothers, if not larger. The bed itself is larger than the one my parents share and everything in the room has either a touch screen or a vast panel of buttons. Despite being an interior room without any true windows, one of the walls shows a view of outside but with the press of a button, I am staring at a vast body of water that I can only assume to be the ocean.

I find the shower and am surprised that they somehow get even more technologically advanced than they were on the train. At least a hundred buttons with carefully printed labels face me and I find myself in a rose-scented, hot shower that pulsates to massage my back.

I get out and can't find a towel so I end up trying a new panel of buttons and the next thing I know I'm blasted with warm air. I'm half afraid to seek out a hair dryer so I leave the bathroom and start figuring out how to extract clothes from the closet.

After a few false starts that resulted in strange Capitol trend clothing, I manage to get boxers, a pair of straight cut pants, a button down shirt, and a brown leather jacket. Dressed and clear of makeup I decide to see if I'm allowed to leave my room. The door isn't locked so I assume that means I'm free to explore the apartment.

It's built on two levels with the bedrooms set into the center of the tower allowing almost an entirely unobstructed view of the city all around. The second level goes around the outside edge and is broken into various common areas, a dining room, a television viewing area and even a balcony.

Cinna and Portia are lounging on the couches near the television and I'm kind of glad that they seem to now be a part of our little team. Anything to keep Effie and Haymitch from wasting time tormenting each other. They look up slightly surprised to see me and smile warmly as they wave me over. "So was it as terrible as you thought it'd be?" Cinna asks.

I settle into one of the red velvet couches and shake my head. "No. Being lit on fire it seems was easier than staying on my feet in the chariot."

They chuckle at my comment and Portia sips from a glass of wine. "Don't worry my dear. Your interview outfit will be far tamer. And you'll only need to sit."

"We still have some time before dinner is served. Would you like to see something?" Cinna asks and he stands. I'm a little surprised by his abruptness but it's not from overenthusiasm. He truly thinks that whatever he's going to show me is important. Portia waves dismissively indicating she's got no desire to follow and so I get up and follow Cinna to what appears to be just another bedroom door. But it opens up onto a stairwell leading up.

I'm surprised because I doubt every other apartment has this stairwell. But we are the topmost floor and so there is more room above us than anyone else. He leads me up the winding stairs and pushes through another door and we're on the roof. At least, we're in a glass walled structure on the roof. But he doesn't stop here to admire the view but leads me to yet another door. We're now outside at the mercy of the wind that's whipping at my hair and clothes. I can hear the people celebrating in the streets and a musical, metallic tinkling.

"I like it up here," Cinna shouts above the sound of the wind. "A person can hear themselves think up here." I give him a sideways glance before carefully making my way to the edge. We're pretty high up and only a railint keeps us from falling to the streets below. Between the beeping car horns and the wind I can barely hear him shout let alone myself think. I then I realize what he's getting at. If I can't hear, then the Capitol's cameras can't either.

"Why are we allowed up here? I could just jump right now. Then they'd be short a tribute." I wouldn't. I couldn't leave Katniss alone now but I'm surprised some of the past tributes didn't seek the faster way out.

"They know you can't," he replies calmly even though he's shouting. He bends down and picks up a small stone. He gently lofts it to the edge and I wonder if that's safe if it were to drop on some poor citizen below. But there is a spark of light and the stone is rebounded right back to Cinna who catches it and drops it again. "Electric field," he says turning his back to me.

I follow him back inside seeing a garden on the other side of the glass dome that seem to be the source of the metallic tinkling. Windchimes, I realize and smile. Must be hundreds of them to cause so much noise.

Back in the apartment, I join him and Portia on the balcony. The tower itself shields us from the wind and it's enjoyable if you can forget that I'll probably be dead soon.

It isn't long before I see Katniss entering the dining room with Effie. She too has taken the opportunity to wash away the makeup from the opening ceremonies and is dressed simply in pants and a green tunic. Cinna smiles down at me and I wonder if he's managed to already see through me as we join them and are served glasses of wine by servants dressed in white tunics. I accept but drink conservatively as I want to keep at my most alert as we need to start discussing further strategy.

Just in time for the first course, Haymitch arrives looking like he's spent even more time than us in the Remake Center. He's clean, shaven and even sober. It seems that the four adults are intent on making small talk that mainly has to do with our clothing from tonight and what we'll be wearing for our interviews. So Katniss and I are mostly quiet throughout the meal as more servants in white tunics bring and clear the courses of mushroom soup, salad with the smallest tomatoes I've ever seen, and thinly sliced roast beef served with noodles.

We're finishing with a serving of cheese and delicious blue grapes when an amazing cake is set on the table. The ginger-haired servant sets it ablaze and it flickers much like we did this evening. Katniss is staring at it wondrously when she looks to the girl and speaks. "What makes it burn? Is it alcohol?" she asks cautiously. "That's the last thing I wa-oh! I know you!"

Her declaration has silenced the entire table as we all look at Katniss and then the servant girl. The poor thing looks horrified at the claim and her already pale features go ghostly white. She only shakes her head and practically flees the room.

"Don't be ridiculous, Katniss. How could you possibly know an Avox?" Effie accuses. "The very thought."

"What's an Avox?" Katniss asks sheepishly and I can't help but wonder the same thing.

"Someone who committed a crime. They cut her tongue so she can't speak," Haymitch replies fixing a hard gaze on Katniss. "She's prbably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her." His words on the surface are a mere explaination but I can sense he means it more as a warning as his eyes are very sharp and intense.

"And even if you did, you're not to speak to one of them unless it's to give an order. Of course you don't really know her." Effie waves her hand dismissively but she's still agitated by Katniss' mistake of breaking some unspoken Capitol rule of etiquette.

"No, I guess not. I just-" Katniss is stammering and at a loss for how to rectify the situation. She also looks absolutely terrified.

I snap my fingers and suddenly the adults are looking at me instead of Katniss. "Delly Cartwright. That's who it is," I say wagging my finger. "I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized she was a dead ringer for Delly." That Avox is no more like Delly than Katniss is, but none of the adults know that. And if Haymitch does by chance, he doesn't let on.

"Of course, that's who I was thinking of," Katniss says after the few moments it takes for her to recover and follow my lead. "It must be the hair."

"Something about the eyes too," I add as I gaze directly into Katniss' watching the relief wash over her.

"Oh, well. If that's all it is," Cinna says and it seems to be the final word on the discussion of the Avox girl. "And yes, the cake has spirits, but the alcohol has burned off. I ordered it specially in honor of your fiery debut."

The cake is cut and served and we eat in silence before moving back to the room with the red couches and the large television. The opening ceremonies are being rebroadcast now for all of Panem to view and I wonder how our families and friends are watching. Are they nervous for us yet, seeing our competition? What will they think of our costumes?

No one makes nearly the impression we did and when we finally are shown for the first time, the adults all issue an "Ahh!" of wonder and I can barely contain my own sigh of surprise.

"Whose idea was the handholding?" Haymitch inquires.

Portia beams as she playfully nudges Cinna. "Cinna's."

"Just the perfect touch of rebellion. Very nice," Haymitch comments with a grin. Until he says it, I don't realize just how much we stand out for doing it. Everyone else looked as if they were trying to ignore or elbow out their fellow tribute. Yes, I suppose rebellion is the word to use. It will certainly be rebelling against the rules for me to go into the Arena with the intent to protect Katniss above myself. So rebelling now, already, seems perfect to me somehow.

Haymitch is now sitting back thoughtfully, a smirk playing on his lips as we watch the rest of the ceremony. As the screen is turned off he turns to look at Katniss and I. "Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Meet me for breakfast and I'll tell you exactly how I want to play it. Now go get some sleep while the grown-ups talk."

He gives us a dismissive wave and we leave, walking together back to our rooms. By the time we get to Katniss' door I'm determined to find out exactly what happened at dinner. I lean against the door frame meaning she'll have to brush past me to get in if she doesn't like our conversation. "So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here."

She stands still and makes no move to get by me, but she's not saying anything either and I sigh as I relax my posture slightly. "Have you been on the roof yet?" Her eyebrows raise at the change in topic and she shakes her head in the negative. "Cinna showed me. You can practically see the whole city. The wind's a bit loud, though."

It takes her only a moment to catch my meaning and she smiles. "Can we just go up?"

"Sure, come on," I say and gently take her by the arm to spin her around and lead her partially back down the hall to the stairs.

Once again, I'm out on the roof with the wind tearing at my hair and I guide her to the railing near where we'd stood before. "I asked Cinna why they let us up here. Weren't they worried that some tributes might decide to jump over the side?"

"What'd he say?" she asks gripping the rail tightly as if the wind might toss her over.

"You can't." I hold my hand out over the rail and I'm surprised by the force of the zap that shoots through my fingertips and yank my arm back. Perhaps I should have used the stone myself in order to demonstrate. "Some kind of electric field throws you back on the roof."

"Always worried about our safety," she retorts. "Do you think they're watching us now?"

I shrug. I have gotten the feeling that every moment is at the very least under surveillance if not publicly aired. "Maybe. Come see the garden."

I lead her around to the other side which has flower beds, potted trees and bushes and the sound of the windchimes is so fiercely loud that we can barely hear one another even if she were to talk into my ear. I give her an expectant look as I still want to know what Katniss knew about the Avox and how.

She bends down and sniffs a bloom and I squat down beside her. "We were hunting in the woods one day. Hidden, waiting for game."

"You and your father?" I ask and her face falls slightly.

"No, my friend Gale. Suddenly all the birds stopped singing at once. Except one. As if it were giving a warning call. And then we saw her. I'm sure it was the same girl. A boy was with her. Their clothes were tattered. They had dark circles under their eyes from no sleep. They were running as if their lives depended on it." She looks up at me briefly as she falls silent. Her eyes are full of guilt and I want nothing more than to hold her and reassure her. But reassurements are pointless right now.

"The hovercraft appeared out of nowhere. I mean, one moment the sky was empty and the next it was there. It didn't make a sound, but they saw it. A net dropped down on the girl and carried her up, fast, so fast like the elevator. They shot some sort of spear through the boy. It was attached to a cable and they hauled him up as well. But I'm certain he was dead. We heard the girl scream once. The boy's name, I think. Then it was gone, the hovercraft. Vanished into thin air. And the birds began to sing again, as if nothing had happened."

"Did they see you?" I ask thinking about the Avox girl's horror when Katniss had drawn attention to her.

"I don't know. We were under a shelf of rock," she answers.

She starts to shake and I sigh as I quickly remove my jacket. "You're shivering." She hesitates at first when I go to wrap it around her shoulders but then finally accepts it. I hope this means she's starting to accept that I want to be friends. But so often it seems she'd rather be like the other tributes, stiff and ignoring each other's existence.

"They were from here?" I ask not so much because I expect Katniss to know but I've never seen anyone like the Avox girl come from the Districts. She gives a shrug and a nod that indicates she believes the same. "Where do you suppose they were going?"

"I don't know that." We're both quiet as we ponder it. Not much is left after District 12, just the wilderness and the toxic ruins of District 13. "Or why would they leave here."

"I'd leave here," I blurt out so quickly and loudly that I could have been easily heard even over the chimes. I glance around wondering if the adults would come looking for us here and then smile at Katniss nervously before laughing lightly. "I'd go home now if they'd let me. But you have to admit the food's prime."

She gives me this look like she's trying to memorize my tells and it makes me nervous how she scrutinizes me. "It's getting chilly. We better go in." I lead her back inside the dome since we're no longer planning to discuss anything deemed questionable, and then head back to our rooms.

"Your friend Gale. He's the one who took your sister away at the reaping?" Not one of my smoothest lines, but considering my inability to carry a conversation with Katniss over the last eleven years, I think I'm doing okay.

"Yes. Do you know him?" she asks a little surprised.

"Not really. I hear the girls talk about him a lot. I thought he was your cousin or something. You favor each other." I scratch the back of my head and duck my gaze trying to not appear too jealous. Despite living in the Seam, Gale has the eye of every girl in school. I don't care too much about that. It's just he has the only eye I do care about as well.

"No, we're not related."

I nod. I knew that. I don't know why I asked. Maybe I was hoping she'd correct me and tell me they were dating or not. "Did he come to say good-bye to you?"

"Yes. So did your father. He brought me cookies."

My eyebrows arch up that she has chosen to mention Gale and my father in the same breath. Does this mean the town baker is held in equal esteem or what? "Really? Well, he likes you and your sister. I think he wishes he had a daughter instead of a household of boys," I joke. Even if only to appease mother who gave up on having a daughter after me.

It is her turn to look surprised and I smile. "He knew your mother when they were kids."

"Oh, yes. She grew up in town." By now we're back to her room and she's shrugging off the jacket. "See you in the morning then."

"See you," I reply throwing the jacket over my arm as I leave.

I find my room to have already been cleaned of my discarded clothes. I shed my layers into a new heap until I'm in my boxers and I quietly crawl into bed. I can't help but wonder why it's required emminent death to get me to finally talk to Katniss Everdeen about anything.


End file.
